


Birds of a Feather

by Meatball42



Series: Rare Pairs [85]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, Awkward Conversations, Childhood Trauma, First Dates, First Kiss, Flying, Food Kink, Friends to Lovers, Genius Tony Stark, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Magical Realism, On The Author's Part, Pining, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Sam Wilson Can Talk to Birds, Timeline What Timeline, Training, not in the fic, that is not discussed in depth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-03 05:31:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19457371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatball42/pseuds/Meatball42
Summary: Sam experiences a painful loss, but his teammate is there to make him smile. He soon realizes that Tony may be more than just a teammate.





	Birds of a Feather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chase_acow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chase_acow/gifts).



_“Normal people don’t do that,” Gram whispered, her breath harsh against his face._

_Sam stared at the sidewalk and prayed that he was dreaming._

_“And normal people don’t wanna see that.”_

Sam glides through the warm air of Manhattan, spiralling lazily and more or less going where the wind takes him. He has a destination in mind, but it’s nice to fly without rushing, without fighting against the sky.

He feels like he’s waited his whole life to be up here. Some days he still doesn’t believe that he can really fly.

The other upside is that occasionally he can hear the people down below, pointing and calling and waving. Probably putting him on Snapchat and Twitter. He waves back, proud. He’s an Avenger, now. He’s peoples’ hero.

Once in a great while, Sam wonders what Gram thinks of him now. If she’s looking down on him, is she proud? Or is he still a freak to her?

But little kids run up to him in the street these days, for hugs and autographs, and he can say to himself, and mean it, that what she thinks of him isn’t the most important thing anymore.

Eventually, he lands on a rooftop in Tribeca, where the migrating birds like to land on account of a local who throws seed and takes their pictures. Sam has talked with him, and since Sam’s presence means the birds come out in force, the guy has agreed to let him hang out on occasion, and not to sell his secret to the tabloids. Not that anyone would believe him if he did.

The birds who know him call out greetings. Sam is mobbed for a minute by everyone who wants to say hello, but they go back to their lounging and gossiping and eating soon enough. There are a few birds Sam doesn’t know. He introduces himself to the curious ones, and one new bird in particular catches his eye.

“Look at you,” he murmurs under his breath. “A Crested Caracara, this far North? What are you doing up here?”

The bird in question looks over at him and abandons her snack to hop onto his arm. She ruffles her feathers and cranes her neck, showing off.

“Yes, you’re very pretty,” Sam humors her. “But why’d you come all this way?”

 _‘Warm,’_ she chits quietly.

“Not a big talker, I guess?”

The Caracara runs her beak over his scalp.

“Thank you,” he says politely.

She whirrs, then flaps back to her food.

A friendly flock of local robins arrives then, clustering around Sam. He trades gossip he’s picked up from other neighborhoods and gets the lowdown on what streets have the best pickings, and where the humans have put out traps or poison.

One bird Sam knows well, a common starling who goes by Flash, shows up late and in a rush. He lands on Sam’s collarbone and tucks in against his neck.

Sam pets his little neck with two fingers and hums soothingly. 

“Aww, Flash, what’s the matter? You run into an owl again? You hurt?”

 _“No no no,”_ Flash chirps mournfully. _“Not me. Redwing.”_

Sam flinches, enough to upset a pigeon or two on his arms. Flash just huddles closer. 

“What happened to Redwing?”

_“Big big car. Crash!”_

Sam swallows. “Is he okay?”

 _“No no no. Dead dead dead.”_ Flash pecks kindly at Sam’s neck, then flies away, leaving Sam frozen on the roof.

Most birds don’t think about death the same way humans do. A few of the species that mate for life do, and some of the more complex thinkers. But small birds, like Flash, they mostly accept death and move on.

It’s a decent way to go about things, Sam thinks, for the hundredth time in his life, as he sniffs and wipes away tears. People die. Birds especially. Maybe, if he didn’t keep letting himself get so attached to the birds—his first, and for a long time, his only friends—he wouldn’t get hurt so much.

But God, Redwing was a young raptor, only three years old. He should’ve been flying for another decade.

Losing someone out of the sky never gets easier.

His earpiece lets out an unusual squawk before tuning in. “—con, you hear me?”

Sam clears his throat before replying. “I hear you Iron Man. What’s up?”

“You joyriding my tech?”

“It’s called training,” Sam banters back. “Filed the FAA paperwork and everything.”

Tony snorts—he never files the paperwork. “I know you’re just taking advantage of my generously-gifted, extremely expensive technology. Why don’t you come back to the Tower so I can get something out of it too.”

“You’ll have to buy me dinner first,” Sam quips.

He does stand up, though. Racing Tony is always a good time, even if he never wins. The EXO-Falcon rig doesn’t come with an arc reactor, after all.

There’s an awkwardly long pause. “You there Tony?” Sam checks. Maybe they’re having comm issues?

“Yeah, yeah. Get your feathery ass over here.”

The line closing cuts off Sam’s, “Roger that.”

He laughs a little. Tony is fun to be around, especially in the air. Tony and Steve don’t get along, and that makes it even more fun. Steve gets worked up at the drop of a hat, and Tony reminds Sam of some of his winged friends: like the crows, he never stops poking his beak into things he should know aren’t good for him. If Sam were invested in the Avengers team being all friendly, he might not like it, but as a part-time Avenger, he’s enjoyed the limited face-time he’s had with Tony.

He says goodbye to everyone on the rooftop and takes off. On the way, Sam swoops over to Tenth Ave, Redwing’s territory, and says a prayer for his friend. He wishes Redwing warm winds and good hunting. He promises he’ll never forget him.

When he makes it to the Tower, Tony is already out on the balcony with the Iron Man suit half on. He gives Sam a suspicious look.

“What were you doing out there? Your flight plan was pretty vague.”

Sam raises his eyebrows, surprised that Tony bothered to look it up. “Honestly, just enjoying the updrafts. Nothing fancy.”

Tony nods after a minute of staring. “Okay. I hope you’re warmed up, ‘cause I won’t be going easy on you today. I’ve got a new coolant for the thruster casings to test, so I’m opening up the throttle. Try to keep up.”

The rest of the armor flies out of the open doors and Tony buzzes past Sam before he can even think of a retort.

“At least he doesn’t say on your left,” he mutters to himself as he powers after the other man.

They fly uptown, then out of the city, towards the land Tony owns past White Plains where the new Avengers HQ is in the beginning stages of construction. Despite what he said, the billionaire does help Sam keep up, only flying fast when he’s going up or down, or to the sides. Sam manages to keep apace as they approach the open lands where they can test their combat skills. Sam heckles and compliments Tony’s runs as deserved, and gets snark back for his troubles. 

From time to time, Sam has watched the immense power and maneuverability of the Iron Man suit and wished he could fly like that. Tony’s armors are basically flying tanks, and there’s a little boy inside of Sam who wishes he could be the one with all that firepower, all that strength. All that protection.

But then he’ll hit an updraft, or close his eyes and drift, feeling the air against his wings, bank and dive and circle, and it feels absolutely right, and he’ll remember that he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

It’s a beautiful day for flying. When they reach Tony’s acreage, they don’t even bother with the structured runs or target-games they normally do. Sam glides, admiring the forest below, listening to the chatter of the birds. Tony flies high into the clear blue sky, higher than Sam can go, then turns off his jets and falls.

The first time, Sam freaks out, nearly throwing out an emergency signal on the Avengers band before Tony’s AI reconnects their comms and Sam hears the familiar, exhilarated scream of an adrenaline junkie.

When Tony comes back to cruising altitude, Sam buzzes him in revenge. Tony starts to chase him, prompting a game of tag that Sam loses horribly until he tucks himself behind a boulder. It hides him from Tony’s sight and heat sensors, but also earns a lot of teasing.

“I thought birds were your thing, you know, flying? Not ground-bound? Pretty sure Mole Man is free if you’re looking to change your schtick.”

“Hey, we don’t all wear a two hundred pound tank. Some of us have to rely on not getting hit.”

“It’s cute that you think this only weighs two hundred pounds.”

They ‘train’ for another hour before Tony complains of being hungry. It’s the middle of the afternoon, but Sam agrees to head back to the city.

As they approach Stark Tower, taking their time, Tony says his name abruptly.

“What’s up?”

“Do you… want to have dinner?” Tony asks. “I have a lot of stuff to go over with you, Avengers stuff,” he adds hurriedly.

“My schedule’s free,” Sam agrees. “Let me grab a shower though.”

“Oh yeah, it’ll take a while to get here.”

“You got something in mind?”

“How does the best steak you’ve ever tasted sound?” Tony zings. Sometimes he speaks with an edge of challenge like that, but Sam always thinks it sounds more habitual than deliberate. He's learned to ignore the posturing, something Steve hasn't yet figured out, and he and Tony get along much better for it.

Sam nods against the headwind. He keeps his lips closed when he smiles, because he’s made that mistake before and paid the disgusting, buggy price. “I could get behind a good steak.”

After he’s put away the Falcon rig, showered, and dressed in new clothes, Sam heads up to Tony’s workshop. He expects to have to prod the man into taking his own shower before the food arrives, based on his limited experience and Steve’s stories, but to his surprise, Tony is clean and… actually looking pretty sharp.

“I didn’t realize I should dress up,” Sam quips.

He should feel awkward, in the sweatpants and faded workout shirt he threw on, next to Tony’s soft-looking sweater and expensive-looking jeans. But Sam can’t bring himself to feel awkward around a guy he’s flown with the way he has with Tony, even if it's only been a handful of times over the last year. There’s a bond there that transcends some of the niceties, something he doesn’t even share with guys like Steve, whose feet stay on the ground for the most part.

While he’s been thinking, Tony has been leaning over a chair to type the last few lines in a holographic keyboard. He holds up one finger. “Almost done, you look fine, et cetera, have a seat.”

Sam takes advantage of the pose to look his teammate over. The jeans cup a surprisingly nice ass, and the sweater shows off a respectable silhouette. Sam remembers Tony’s comment about the weight of the suit and thinks about how buff he and the other Falcon fliers had to be to handle even seventy pounds of gear in the air.

Blinking out of that distracting tangent, Sam follows his nose to a corner of the lab that’s set up with a table and two chairs. He takes a seat, sniffing the delectable scent in the air and eyeing up the red candle that’s been set up over the white tablecloth.

Before he can salivate too much, Tony joins him.

“Glad you made it, hey.” Tony sits down across from him and realizes that the candle practically blocks their view of each other. “Oh this, this is to help with—”

He gestures, and the lights in the lab fade until the hologram in front of them is the brightest thing in the room. It shows a Stark Industries screensaver, the basic blueprint of a fighter plane rotating and then taking off.

While Sam inspects it, Tony lights the candle and moves it a bit out of the way. It’s bright enough to light up their corner of the room.

“Hey dummy,” Tony says suddenly. Sam looks up in surprise, but Tony is facing away from him, and from the dark side of the lab, a serving cart approaches.

“Thanks buddy,” Tony says to the cart.

“Uh…”

“Sam, this is Dummy.” Tony waves his hand and a… robot… thing… rolls out from behind the cart on a square, metal base and four wheels. It has a big claw that it must have used to maneuver the cart.

“Hi.” Sam waves vaguely.

The claw seems to perk up, then copies his wave.

Sam grins. It’s kinda cute.

“Say hi,” Tony directs, and the robot beeps.

“He’s excited to meet you,” Tony says to Sam. “He likes the Falcon suit.”

“Wow,” Sam says, summoning up the tone he uses for his sister’s kids. “That’s nice to hear. I think you look pretty cool too.”

The claw rotates with a whir and bounces slightly, letting out a few more quiet beeps.

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony shoos at the robot. “I know. Go away.”

The robot makes a sad-sounding trill and rolls back into the dark.

“He’s fun,” Sam comments politely.

“He’s my oldest,” Tony tells him, taking the lids off the dishes on the cart.

It seems like a weird thing to say, but Sam is soon distracted by the amazing smell that is even stronger now.

Tony starts serving. “The finest steak in the city, as promised.”

He loads both their plates with generously portioned meat, glistening, buttery-looking potatoes, and bright vegetables. Then he picks up a bottle of wine from behind the table, raising his eyebrows at Sam in question.

Sam shakes his head. “Got anything virgin?”

“Not for a while,” Tony quips. Sam rolls his eyes.

“Dummy, get some juice?”

After a minute and some clanking sounds that nearly had Sam cringing, the robot returns, gripping a glass bottle of pomegranate juice in its claw. Tony grabs it a moment before it can slip to the floor.

“You’re a wreck,” he mutters affectionately. 

The robot perks up again and spins its claw. Tony pets it brief for a second before handing the bottle off to Sam.

Sam takes it appreciatively. He likes trying new things, and rich-people things are mostly either excellent, or make for great stories.

“Down to business,” Tony announces. He ignores his own food in favor of bringing up some images and blueprints on the holographic screen. “I have a list of adjustments to make to your current wings and then some ideas to explore for the next generation. After that, your body suit could use some work, which is to say, you should have one, I can’t _believe_ you fly this thing in a t-shirt—”

“That was one time,” Sam tries to interrupt, but it’s muffled by a half-chewed mouthful of glorious potatoes, and Tony steamrolls over him.

“—it’s like having another Barton around, which we don’t need. I’m gonna make you a pair of combat boots like Natasha’s, they have significantly better grip than your run-of-the-mill lines. There are a few dohickeys you might like, stuff the spies get a laugh out of that come in handy sometimes. Your color palette needs a rework, specifically, what self-respecting super-hero doesn't have one? I have a few mock-ups, but of course it's your whole theme, so you oughtta weigh in—”

“What… the hell… is this?”

Sam hasn’t heard the last few sentences, because he is in oral heaven after a single bite of rich-people steak. It’s the tenderest cut of meat he can imagine, rich and juicy and melting against his tongue like butter. It is definitely the best steak he’s ever tasted. 

"What did they feed the cow, caviar?"

Tony laughs while Sam has his religious experience. When he finally opens his eyes, Tony’s watching him with the same crinkle-eyed smile he gave to Dummy, like Sam is also flawed and adorable.

“You ready for work?” he teases gently.

“No,” Sam says, perfectly honest. He takes another bite of the steak.

Tony laughs again and shakes his head before turning to his own plate.

They eat until the edge is taken off Sam’s hunger. Flying the Falcon suit isn’t for couch potatoes, and he needs a solid meal after a long flight like today’s. Tony seems similarly famished, scarfing down the heavenly steak like it’s a fast-food burger.

“Okay,” Sam sighs eventually, leaning back in his chair. “What were you saying about making me look super fly?”

Tony chuckles with his mouth full and nearly chokes. He waves Sam off when he nearly gets to his feet, years of paramedic training kicking in.

“I’m alright. But I won’t be if you make any more shitty puns.”

“No more puns, I promise.”

Tony starts up the briefing again, going into more detail and asking Sam serious questions. It’s better by miles than the guys Sam’s used to being outfitted by. In the Air Force, he got told what he was going to wear and use for tools. Tony clearly considers Sam the expert in the Falcon suit, despite his lack of an engineering background, and listens closely. He even takes notes when Sam makes some suggestions.

They agree on a few changes to the wings as they finish up their food. Tony eats while Sam talks, rather than lecturing. It feels easy, equal, like Tony respects him as an Avenger even though he’s new and relatively untested.

It makes Sam relax. It makes him feel like he belongs here.

When they finish the meal, Tony clears away the plates and takes the lid off the last dish on the cart. “Hope you saved room.”

Sam’s eyes widen at the sight of a shiny, dark pie. “I’ll make room.”

It’s a chocolate silk, Sam’s favorite. He is pretty damn full, so he eats in tiny bites as they press on with the tech talk. It’s delectable, one of the best he’s ever had.

Or maybe his impression is affected by the company; specifically, the way Tony keeps getting dark chocolate smeared on his lower lip.

He realizes, watching Tony gesture with a forkful of pie, that this is the best day he can remember having in a long time. Even though he lost a friend this morning, and Redwing’s death still hurts in his chest when he thinks about it, he’s not bogged down by the sadness. He’s comforted by being around Tony.

It’s something to think about.

When the pie is gone, Tony calls Dummy over again to take away the cart. He and the robot seem to bicker over whether Dummy is about to knock everything over. 

Sam thinks it's cute. Tony treats Dummy like a cross between a small child and a pet dog. It reminds him of Redwing again, and he leans back with a sigh, his smile becoming more wistful.

When everything is out of the way, Tony turns back to Sam. His movements have picked up a stiffness to them. “Okay, I have one more thing to show you.”

“You look nervous,” Sam comments kindly. “I’ve liked everything else so far, I’m sure I’ll like whatever this is.”

Tony chuckles, still looking nervous. “Yeah, well.”

He pulled up a different file, with blueprints and some graphic renders. Sam has to stare at them for a minute to find out what the new design is, because for once, Tony isn’t talking.

“A drone?” he guesses.

“Kind of,” Tony admits quietly, before taking a deep breath. “You said that you don’t wear a tank like me, and you’re right. This way, you can have eyes in the sky without taking so much of a risk.” His eyes plead with Sam not to panic as he goes on. “It’s an AI.” 

Sam sits back in his seat. His muscles suddenly feel weak.

He wasn’t there when Ultron emerged and began his spree of world-ending violence. He’d left the party a few hours before to get on a plane, and was in Argentina when everything was going down. But he knows the kind of damage that AI did, and he’s heard all of Steve’s existential monologues about it, as his friend tried to come to terms with the kind of technology that would allow such a thing to happen.

Tony is still watching him with cautious eyes, like he thinks Sam’s about to explode or turn him in to the authorities.

Sam doesn’t even know _who_ he would turn Tony in to if he wanted to.

“Okay,” he says eventually. “Tell me about it.”

Tony nods, not relaxing at all as he starts to explain the design of the drone, its capabilities, the way it’ll sync up with Sam’s new visor. Then he starts talking about its ability to learn, to start to pick out the things Sam cares about, to recognize patterns before a human could and raise the alarm on its own, if time is short. He says it’ll talk to Sam.

“Like, like JARV—I mean, like FRIDAY does?”

Tony runs a hand through his hair, but keeps his face blank. “No. I mean, it’s a bird drone. I’m going to make it so it can talk to _you_.”

A coldness starts creeping over Sam’s fingers and up his arms. “What are you talking about?”

“I heard you. Earlier today. Talking to the birds.”

Sam’s whole body goes cold.

No one has known about him and the birds, not since Riley. And before that, not since… the things he doesn’t think about from his childhood.

Tony has been talking, rambling on quickly, but the fuzz in Sam’s head hadn’t let him hear it. “...and I wanted to ask you to have dinner with me before, I have for a while, but this just gave me the push I needed to actually do it, because you’re like me. And I didn’t think anyone was like me.”

The rich meal is rolling in Sam’s stomach. “You can hear them too?” he whispers.

“Not birds,” Tony says. He wrings his hands, the most obvious fidget Sam’s ever seen from him, and he’s trained to notice fidgets. “I… I can talk to AIs.”

It takes about ten seconds for that to make its way through Sam’s head. “Don’t you… make them talk?”

“I can talk to them before I code them to be able to understand other people,” Tony explains. “I can understand them even when they don’t have a voice like FRIDAY. Look, see—Dummy! Come over here!”

The robot rolls up and tilts its claw at Sam. He eyes it in a totally different way than he did earlier, looking for signs of sentience—or malevolence.

Tony grabs a pen and notepad off a nearby lab table. “Here, write something and show it to Dummy.”

Uncertain, Sam writes down the name of a Cuban restaurant he and Natasha had gone to the week before, then angles the notepad for the robot to see.

It starts beeping, quiet little things that Sam wouldn’t have thought about any more than he thinks about the sounds his laptop makes. Tony looks at it like it makes sense.

“If you don’t know the word, look at the letters. Think about how they work together.”

Sam blinks, flustered, as Tony coaches the robot like it’s a little kid struggling with a beginner’s book.

“Guantanamera?” Tony says like he’s sounding it out.

“Yeah,” Sam says weakly.

He sits wordlessly for a while. Tony pats Dummy’s claw and calls him good boy, then send his off to clean up another part of the lab.

Eventually, Sam realizes that he’s not going to come to any solid conclusions sitting here.

He stands up, and Tony’s attention snaps to him. He looks like he’s starting to panic, those brown eyes going wide.

“Was this a date?” Sam preempts him.

“Uh… if you want it to have been?” Tony says carefully. He clears his throat. “It was supposed to be. If you don’t want it to be then no, it’s just good food with a teammate.”

“I’ll… get back to you.”

“Okay,” Tony says uncertainly.

Sam can’t reassure him, his mind too full of the echoes of cruel words and crueler silences. He nods and leaves the lab.

He can still taste chocolate silk on his tongue.

  


A few days later, Sam gets a text from Tony.

_‘He’s done, if you want to meet him.’_

Sam hasn’t made any real decisions about what to do with Tony and the fact that he knows Sam’s secret, _and_ the fact that he really is like Sam. But, he has managed to stop seeing his father’s ghost whenever he thinks about it, so progress has been made.

Sam leaves his suite for the first time in three days and heads to Tony’s lab.

Tony is dressed in his lab-typical jeans and grimy tank-top. He’s sitting in a rolling chair, watching a flash of silver zoom around the room. When Sam enters, the thing banks sharply toward him.

He ducks, then when nothing crashes, slowly stands up.

The thing is shaped like a bird of prey, but with the head of an aircraft rather than a bird. It’s metal, in white, silver and red.

It’s also hovering, pointed toward him like it’s watching him back.

“...Hey.”

_“You are Sam?”_

He gasps.

Past the drone, Tony is watching carefully.

_“Human-father says you are my Keeper.”_

“I… I guess so.”

The drone flies in a circle around Sam’s head. _“Are you going to preen me?”_

Sam is nearly startled enough to laugh. “Do you like that sort of thing?”

It lands on his shoulder, the wings folding into its back in a way that is very different from a real bird. The front of it sort of… rubs against his face.

_“Why shouldn’t I?”_

Sam reaches up and pets the front of it and it wiggles closer to his hand.

He can literally feel himself falling in love.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

_“I don’t have one yet.”_

Sam looks back at Tony, frowning in disapproval, but that fades.

Tony is watching him with a soft expression. It’s full of longing and affection, and it’s heartbreakingly brief. It vanishes in an instant as Tony sees him looking and gets to his feet. 

“I only name the kids I’m keeping,” he says briskly. “That’s how Jocasta got her name. Rhodey picked it.”

He turns away from Sam to start typing on a holographic keyboard. The screen in front of him is incomprehensible to anyone without an engineering degree.

Sam comes close enough to read it over his shoulder. Tony’s fingers start hesitating, and he spins around. His eyes drop from Sam’s eyes to his lips, then, and the pieces finally fall into place in Sam’s head.

“When did you start working on him?” he asks. “Even for you, this isn’t a week’s worth of work.”

“Last year,” Tony admits, staring determinedly into a corner away from Sam.

"So long ago?" Sam shakes his head. “Why? We didn’t even know each other then.”

“You… you get it. The flying. Rhodey gets it, but he’s in it for the fighting, the guns. It’s not about just being up there, for him. You…”

He looks back at Sam briefly, and Sam steps closer.

“No need to say thank you, or whatever this is,” Tony blusters, stepping back. “If you try to hug me—”

Sam shuts him up at last with a kiss. Tony is taken aback for roughly one second before he melts into Sam’s arms.

Sam hasn’t kissed anyone in longer than he’d like to admit, so maybe it’s just that, but this is one of the best kisses he can remember. He smooths his hands down Tony’s back and Tony makes a noise of pleasure, angling his head and touching Sam’s cheek.

Cold metal interrupts the spot where their skin meets.

 _“Is this human preening?”_ the drone asks curiously.

Sam and Tony both burst out laughing. It takes them a good few minutes to calm down enough to get back to kissing.

But they do.


End file.
